The Nymph Hunt
by AkashaTheKitty
Summary: Sometimes you're a hag in a nymph's body, and sometimes you're just a witch trying to hide the nymph in you... DMHG. Post-DH disregarding epilogue. Written for an exchange, see prompt inside.
1. Chapter 1

**This was my exchange fic written anonymously for angeepang's request in the dmhg fic exchange a couple of months ago. Now reveals happened and I figured that I'd post it to here since Bracelet updates are a bit slow lately. This one is five parts and about 21k words in total. Hope you like.**

**REQUEST**  
**Would you prefer an art or fic gift?:** Fic please  
**Song, Poem, or Quote (title/original creator):** Mine is a Mark Twain quote from The Czar's Soliloquy -- There is no power without clothes. It is the power that governs the human race. Strip its chiefs to the skin, and no State could be governed; naked officials could exercise no authority; they would look (and be) like everybody else - commonplace, inconsequential.  
**Describe your ideal gift in as few words/keywords as possible (plus rating):** Rating I'm flexible on, though NC-17 isn't really my cup of tea I wouldn't NOT read it. I'd like something funny that takes place after DH (EWE of course). I really just have this scenario in my head of Draco and Hermione in Diagon Alley (or anywhere) clothes shopping; separately and they run into one another or together from the start I don't care.  
**Dealbreakers (absolute no-no's):** I hate curse words when they come out of Draco OR Hermione's mouths. It just never seems in character to me. Cheating!Jealous!CompleteIdiot!Ron is another I'm not too fond of, and Dark!Harry and GirlyGirl!Ginny too.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter. Don't tell me you thought I did. JKR does. I am in no way affiliated with her, Bloomsbury or Warner Bros. I'm earning absolutely no money on this as my bank account will tell you. :) The prompt is written very loosely based on a quote by Mark Twain, thus proving that there are many people more famous, richer (and sometimes infinitely more dead) than I. I will have to deal with that.  
**Warnings:** Conversational references to sex in non-explicit terms, mild language and the occasional extremely strange minor character.  
**Summary:** Sometimes you're a hag in a nymph's body, and sometimes you're just a witch trying to hide the nymph in you...  
**Notes:** A world of thanks to **spikespetslayer** and **margotlefaye** for being two of the coolest witches around and also for bearing with my constant whining and doubting and giving me such good advice. Also thanks to a few others who took the time to give me some much needed pointers in my time(s) of need. You know who you are. Written based on a Mark Twain quote from The Czar's Soliloquy: _There is no power without clothes. It is the power that governs the human race. Strip its chiefs to the skin, and no State could be governed; naked officials could exercise no authority; they would look (and be) like everybody else - commonplace, inconsequential._

* * *

Hermione took a deep breath and tried to calm herself down. No reason to be upset. So there were a few minor setbacks. She had known there would be when she had refused the preferential treatment offered her after the war as one of the heroes. She had known she would have to work her way up from a nobody to a somebody and she had predicted that it might mean working a lot of nights and having to prove herself to people who didn't believe she was really the Brightest Witch of Their Age.

She hadn't quite predicted that it would mean answering to the Biggest Git of Their Age.

It hadn't started quite like that. At first, her job had been almost pleasant. It had been long hours and low pay, but she had begun on the road towards making her voice heard in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. She had figured that she would have the experience and the contacts to truly make a difference in the rights of house elves and other oppressed species within maybe a year or two.

No such thing. She had now been here eighteen months and the only change she had been allowed to make was which brand of coffee she had to make for her bosses.

Bosses.

Initially it had just been her and the one boss in this subdivision, a rather unlikeable old wizard who was rather set in his ways and not very interested in listening to her proposals. As unpleasant as he had been at times while lecturing her on 'the way of the world' and how she needed some 'life experience' to 'temper her idealism', he had been something she could endure.

Then about nine months ago _he_ had arrived to occupy a position alongside her own. He hadn't wanted to be there and quickly made it very clear that if he had any choice he wouldn't be. But he hadn't any choice. The Malfoys' case had finally made it through the system and they had—of course—gotten off the hook with no more than a fine, a prolonged holiday abroad for Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, and some forced 'correctional work' for Draco Malfoy, who had refused to leave the country until people forgot about their crimes.

Instead of doing any work, though, he decided to make friends with the boss. It wasn't a hard thing for him to do, because although the old bigot didn't give one whit for the rights of those poor creatures he was put here to manage, he cared a great deal about money and power and that was something the Malfoys still had in abundance. Unfortunately.

Hermione might have been able to ignore it if it wasn't for the fact that Malfoy not only did not do any work but he kept accepting work with unreasonable deadlines, finding ways to dump it on her and making sure she barely had time to sleep, let alone anything else. Hermione had known that complaining to her boss would be futile though, so she had gone over his head and complained to the head of the department.

The boss had been reprimanded and as petty revenge—no doubt to 'temper' her—he had promoted Draco, even giving him his own little office. This gave him the ability to boss Hermione around without any repercussions whatsoever. And he did. Whenever he could. Smiling about it as he did it.

Naturally, Hermione had looked into whether the promotion, ludicrous as it was, was against Ministry regulations. Unfortunately, it wasn't. As long as her boss stayed within the budget of his department, he was free to manage all personnel as he saw fit. This included inventing new positions for convicts who got off on bossing other people around.

She had complained to Harry about the bad luck that was Draco Malfoy being put in _her_ department and just from the look of his red ears she had known that it hadn't been coincidence before he had even opened his mouth. "I'm sorry, Hermione," he had said, "but I knew that you would be able to handle him, so I actually talked them into putting him there…" She had been hard pressed not to throw a tantrum right then and there, but Harry, possibly the Most Arrogant Auror of Their Age, had stubbornly maintained that her neither quitting nor being in tears counted as him being right in making this call. "Besides," he'd added, "he'll be gone once his year is up, then I'm sure everything will return to normal."

Trying to explain to Harry that Malfoy now had the power to keep her back in this thankless and futile position for yet another year by giving a false review of her performance before he went on his merry way (and how that prospect made her want to go on a killing spree) was futile, so she kept her mouth shut. But she had been considerably frostier towards Harry since then. When he asked her how long she planned to keep that up, she'd just replied, "Until _his_ influence on my life is gone," and had walked off with her nose in the air.

Of course, that was somewhat shooting herself in the foot as she hadn't really had either time or opportunity to make any new friends in the Ministry and now she had no one to share her preciously sparse free time with.

"You're awfully quiet, Granger." It was that annoying drawl of his interrupting her thoughts.

"Forget it!" she hissed. "I am _not_ spending my entire weekend cataloguing the minor acceptable differences in newts sold in Britain just because _you_ feel like it!"

"Oh, and what else are you going to do? Shag that red-haired loser of yours?" he asked, putting on his cloak three hours before he was supposed to go home. Again. "Maybe if you do your job I will give you a nice review in two months."

His smirk was positively evil and they both knew he had absolutely no intention of reviewing her in any manner that would allow for a promotion. Merlin, she would be lucky to even keep her job once he was done lying through his teeth.

The _most_ annoying thing was that he didn't even seem to be doing it because he hated her. No, he did it because he _could_ and it amused him to be a total prick.

"I can't do it this weekend, Malfoy," she argued, pushing the stack of papers back towards him. She misjudged the force of her push, though, and sent her ink well over the edge, spattering the dark liquid on Malfoy's impeccable grey silk robes. Her eyes widened in horror at the irreversible mess. Ink stains weren't easily Scourgified or otherwise cleaned, and the ink the Ministry used was of a more lasting kind. There went her next many, many weekends. There was no way Malfoy wasn't going to seize on an opportunity to punish her.

Because he could.

He looked down on the mess she had made on his expensive clothes. "You're going to pay for that," he observed.

Oh, she was sure she was. She considered whether this career was really worth this. She could just walk away and find a perfectly nice, idealistic job—perhaps working for the Daily Prophet—that didn't require her to work fourteen hours a day, seven days a week, answering to a former Death Eater, for slave wages.

But then he'd win. She couldn't let him win. If she just endured for another few months he'd be gone.

Just a few months. She could do that...right?

His thoughtful expression suddenly turned into a rather menacing smile. "Yes, that's it. You're going to _pay_ for a new set of robes. And not the rubbish kind you're wearing either, but ones like these."

Hermione stared at him. His robes probably cost more than she made in a year. "You have a hundred more just like it!" she argued. "You probably weren't even going to wear it ever again."

His smile widened and she was once again confirmed in her belief that he was completely and utterly evil. Evil was the lack of conscience or remorse, right? It certainly fit. "Aren't you and your lot all about _principles_?" he asked in a silky voice. "Well, it's the _principle_ of the matter, isn't it? You destroyed my property, so you need to compensate me. And since I'm not really interested in any other form of compensation you might offer, money is the only option, isn't it?"

Great. She had sort of counted on eating, but now that probably wouldn't be an option for a while. And here she hadn't thought she needed a diet. "How much?" she groaned.

He looked thoughtful. "Come to think of it, I'm not in the mood to go buy new robes, so you do that instead."

"I can't buy robes for _you_."

"Sure you can. Madam Malkin has my measurements."

Hermione suppressed another groan. "Colour and fabric like this one?" she dully asked.

"Now, why would I want robes like ones I already had? Have a little imagination."

"Fine. Green with purple polka dots it is."

She couldn't help but take some satisfaction in his horrified expression.

He looked her up and down.

"And you'd think it was good taste too, wouldn't you?" Hermione gaped with indignation. Before she could retaliate though, he waved his hand dismissively. "Like I would allow someone with your poor sense of fashion to even _try_ and buy me robes. Just stop tossing ink at me and give me those numbers by Monday!"

She fought down an urge to roll her eyes. "Weren't you going somewhere?" she asked, more than eager to get rid of him, if only for a few hours.

He looked down his robes. "I _was_, until you decided to make me horribly late. Now I will have to cancel." He sauntered off into the office that he hadn't earned.

Now Hermione did roll her eyes but somehow managed to hold her tongue. It wasn't worth it. Just a little bit longer and he would be gone. Just a few months.... Suddenly something occurred to her.

"I really can't do it this weekend," she called out. "I have that _thing_."

His form was back filling his door frame, now wearing another robe. A blue one. Peacock. Fitting. "Then cancel your _thing_. I need those numbers."

Hermione stared. "You keep a change of robes at your office?"

"Well, I have to with such clumsy people around me, don't I?"

She shook her head, shaking off the very disturbing reasons why he would be keeping extra clothes in his office since he certainly never worked late. "I, uh, I _can't_ cancel the _thing_ because it's the _mandatory_ thing that everyone has."

"Oh. Right. _That_." He frowned. "Funny, I knew that, but somehow I didn't think of you going.... No offense, but you really aren't the type to be where there's actual fun to be had."

No offense indeed. Hermione ground her teeth. It was true that she wasn't exactly a social butterfly—she didn't have the _time_ for that—but she hated the way he always made digs at her appearance and her dedication to work. She couldn't afford to wear expensive robes and she didn't have the time for much outside of work, that was true, but at least she had a goal, a purpose in life. He didn't. Sometimes she even felt sorry for his empty way of life, but he would usually cure that with one of his glib remarks.

True to form, he began sniggering. "You'll be dressing up as a hag, won't you? You are quite possibly the only female on this planet who wishes that she'd been born sporting a hump and warts."

She glared at him, not deigning to answer. Of course she wished for no such thing. Just because she didn't preen all the time didn't mean she didn't have her moments of vanity! She had just learned not to show them around the office since Malfoy unerringly seemed to spot them and find something new to disparage about her looks every single time. It wasn't that his opinion mattered, but since he was the _only_ one who seemed to notice any change at all, she had just decided not to bother anymore.

He waited for a second to hear if she had a reply, but when she didn't, he just shrugged. "Fine, have it by Tuesday, then," he said, closing the door to his office. She couldn't imagine to do _what_ since it was almost certainly not work. Maybe he needed a nap; after all, it was such a hard life to be rich and coddled by everyone.

**********

The dark-haired girl, even a stranger to herself, smoothed her hands over the silvery flimsy fabric that only reached her mid-thighs. It was too short, really. It hadn't seemed that short when the salesman had shown it to her at the store. This combined with the straps leaving her shoulders bare and the neckline that plunged to show a generous amount of bosom made her feel naked. Or it should make her feel naked. Really, it just made her feel like the woman in her mirror was naked. She, herself, felt strangely detached from that person. The woman looking back at her didn't feel real.

She gingerly touched one perfect glossy black curl and stared into her emerald green eyes.

She really doubted anybody actually had that colour eyes. Even Harry didn't have such clear green eyes and everyone always remarked on those. It felt strange to have the wrong colour eyes staring back at her. Unsettling and exhilarating at the same time. It felt as if she was someone else, someone who might do anything she liked because people had no expectations of her.

She felt free.

She touched her much too pretty face. It felt strange to run her fingers over her skin, the familiar feeling not matching what she saw in the mirror at all. Her features were much too regular and her skin had a flawless look and a mother-of-pearl sheen to it that certainly was nothing like what she saw each morning as she stepped out of the shower. She probably shouldn't experiment too much, though, or she might end up poking an eye out.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Hermione," she burst out. "It's not like it's that different from Polyjuice Potion!"

She was a nymph. She had actually wanted to be a hag; Malfoy had called that one right, albeit for the wrong reasons. At the shop, however, the owner had made a fuss about how it was a pity to let her youthful attributes go to waste and how much easier it was if the costume matched the body type. He had actually ended up refusing to let her have a hag costume, saying he took pride in how well it fit and it wouldn't fit at all. It was ridiculous. She didn't really mind being a nymph, except there'd probably be 300 other nymphs or other ridiculously beautified female costumes present, and they'd probably think she was like them.

From her experience, she knew that she was nothing like the witches who would be going as nymphs.

She had much more in common with the hags.

But now the hags would think she was a nymph.

Hermione frowned. She wasn't making much sense. Besides, this was about going as what you _weren't_, and she certainly wasn't some vain, beautiful, absolutely brainless nymph. Perhaps it would be nice to try to be one for a change. Nobody would really know anyway unless she found a reason to stay all night. This silly Ministry thing might be mandatory in order to impress some French diplomats currently housed by the Department of International Magical Cooperation, but they didn't specify how long she had to stay or how much she had to mingle.

She turned back to the mirror to marvel at how complete the disguise was. She supposed that was why it had to somewhat resemble her own looks; so she wouldn't feel much differently than she looked, since it was only a glamour and didn't actually alter the body the way Polyjuice Potion did. Not that anyone would be feeling her, but, nevertheless, it was a nice detail.

She almost hadn't wanted to go at all, contemplating rare diseases that might get her excused. Malfoy had almost called that one as well. There would be many people present that she knew, but the invitation clearly stated that only spouses were allowed to share their identities until midnight, so… essentially she'd be alone. She didn't like being alone.

But everyone else would be alone as well.

Yet, as it turned out, everyone else wouldn't be a hag trapped in a nymph's body.

She was going in circles and this was moot. She was determined to prove herself a useful and worthy employee so she could finally get her promotion and going to a dumb party was the least she could do to prove her dedication.

It was time to go.

**********

The masked ball was held in some old, stately mansion. She shuddered to think of the amount of pureblood snobs that would be present, but when working for the Ministry, one could hardly avoid diplomats. Or pureblood snobs. The two were pretty much interchangeable, she had learned. Good thing she hadn't wanted to become a diplomat because war hero or no, she certainly didn't have the pedigree for anyone to consider her for that position.

Sometimes she really did wonder if it was worth it to go through all this. Maybe she should just have accepted the higher position when it was offered. Maybe, in time, she could have convinced people that she belonged there.

Except reality said that no, she couldn't. She was young, she was female, she was idealistic, and she was Muggleborn...they would have completely disregarded everything she said, claiming eight kinds of ignorance. She needed to _prove_ that she belonged in a position where she could make a change, and this seemed the only way to do it.

She handed her invitation to the vampire at the door, wondering if he was real or in costume. He waved his wand, making the invitation disappear and she was now officially an attendee. The presence of a wand suggested that perhaps he was in costume. The hungry look, however....

She decided to move on.

She was pointed towards a huge, open ballroom, where people were left to freely mingle. There were some doors off to the sides to what Hermione assumed to be the owner's personal rooms. Some of them seemed to be open to those that preferred a little more peace and quiet, though.

She had to remember that.

The place was a crush, and she soon discovered that she probably hadn't been too far off in her estimate of nymphs, Veelas and similar much too pretty costumes present. No two were the same, though, and just looking at people was an interesting pastime that almost made up for not knowing who anyone was. Also, there was the constant guessing game of who was in costume and who was really just another species. After all, they had only been able to make costumes mandatory for Ministry employees.

The most interesting costume was a Quintaped. Well, either it was a costume or it was someone's pet. Bringing a pet with a notorious taste for human flesh didn't seem very likely—or safe—though, so she decided to settle on it being a costume.

She was so intrigued by her own personal guessing game that after a few hours, when the crush was at its worst, she forgot where she was going and barged straight into someone.

Arms reached out to steady her and she looked up into the most incredible blue eyes she had ever seen. She lost her breath and just stared as the eyes widened slightly in surprise. Then the corners of the beautiful blue eyes crinkled in amusement and she realised what she was doing.

She was ogling something that was just a part of a costume. Those eyes were just about as real as her own too-green eyes and as she shot a second look, she found that on closer inspection, they were really too much. They might have been made of glass for all the realism and appeal they now held to her.

Embarrassed, she took a step back and frowned as she tried to make out this wizard's disguise. He was tall, but not overly so. He was lean and definitely hadn't _felt_ pudgy when she had collided into his chest. He was tan and had light brownish hair that fell just short of getting in his eyes. Of course, his features were impossibly handsome. Again, it was artificial and held no real appeal. It was like looking at some portrait or perhaps a Roman sculpture—aesthetically pleasing, but not with any real depth behind the outer shell.

Of course, she didn't know _who_ was behind the outer shell, but whoever it was was wearing a disguise, same as herself. She surmised that the real man was probably the direct opposite of his costume: Pale with dark hair and eyes and rather plain to look at.

Yet as for what the costume was… She let her eyes run down his length, and she honestly couldn't tell what he was supposed to be.

"Like what you see?" The man was amused at her curiosity. Well, let him. She wondered whether she might know this person since his voice seemed slightly familiar. She hadn't really given any thought to whether one's voice had also been changed. She supposed not, since a glamour only changed the visual.

"What are you?" she bluntly asked.

He raised an eyebrow, betraying some arrogance. Well, half the people here were arrogant. "You mean you can't tell?"

She shook her head. "No…"

"Guess."

"A man."

"Oh," he said, now raising both his eyebrows. "She likes to be clever, then."

"Well, am I right?" She raised her own eyebrows. She could be arrogant, too, if need be.

His lip quirked, also reminding Hermione of someone or something. "To the man at the shop's great chagrin, you are. Completely. I'm just a man."

"Well, that's dull." Hermione was really getting into character. Normally she would be more polite, but why should she? Going to a costume party as 'just a man' _was_ dull.

"Perhaps. But it was what I wanted to be for the night. No elaborate devil, creature or famous wizard appealed to me."

Hermione personally thought that the devil she had noticed when entering was quite interesting to look at. More interesting than a _man_, no matter how appealing his features were. "So…what?" She took in the trousers he was wearing. "You want to be a Muggle?"

Again he looked slightly taken aback at her bluntness. "_Want_ to be a Muggle?" he mused. "Well…they do have it easy, don't they? No fuss about blood and all that to lead to wars and politics and endless boring squabbles."

So, he was hardly Muggleborn since he didn't seem to know that they had similar problems out there. He sounded mostly bored with the issues, though, meaning that he was hardly an idealist for or against any of the issues. Just another wizard more interested in living his own life than making an impact on others' lives. Nothing wrong with that, she supposed.

"The fuss is only what you make of it," she replied, sounding as neutral as possible.

He shook his head sadly. "That fuss is only a small part of it. There was a time when dating a non-pureblood would have earned me eternal disgrace. I actually considered doing it anyway once back then, but I wasn't very brave so I ended up deciding against it. Now…I wouldn't say people don't care anymore, but 'eternal disgrace' has pretty much lost its meaning in the vortex of the war and the…impact…it had on some of us. Mixing blood is suddenly such a trivial thing and yet people seem to go on and on about it as if it matters one way or the other."

Hermione blinked at the very candid words from the stranger standing in front of her. "You were…on the losing side…" she slowly said. Anyone trying to live up to the old pureblood standards would have had to have been either siding with Voldemort or staying neutral, but the bitterness in his words…he hadn't been passive back then. It wasn't a great shock, though. There were a lot of people that she had to see every day that had made the wrong decisions back then. The world wasn't black and white and she had long since learned that people did things for many different reasons, not all of them good or evil. It didn't mean that she had to condone siding with a mass-murdering psychopath, but keeping the hate alive just didn't work.

He shot her a cautious glance, grimaced and then sighed in resignation. He seemed to have picked up on her censure. Some things she didn't hide very well. "I was a kid back then," he murmured. "I didn't have a side. I did what I was told to do."

Hermione rolled her eyes at the weak defence. "The war was _won_ by kids, you know."

He nodded, looking slightly absent-minded. "Yeah, they weren't me though. I told you already, I wasn't very brave. I would never have gone against my parents. I would have done whatever they asked me all the way. Even if it killed me."

She thought about that for a second. "Perhaps that's not a lack of bravery," she finally said, feeling magnanimous. "Perhaps that's just excess loyalty." She realised she meant it, too. You could hardly fault someone for loving their family and wanting to protect them. She, herself, had done some slightly questionable things over the years to help her family and friends.

Strangely, he burst out laughing. "I've never been accused of being excessively loyal before, but thanks. It's a small step up from being called a coward." He looked at her assessingly. "You're not what I expected."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "You have expectations of people that run into you?"

His eyes slid down her form, telling her that clearly he did. That was the problem with being a hag in a nymph's body. People expected you to _be_ a nymph and Hermione had no idea how to do that—or rather, she had an idea that she didn't really want to be one.

"So, what's your name?" he asked.

She shook her head. "You know I can't tell you that."

His lip quirked again in a way that Hermione had a feeling she _should_ remember. "Just give me any name, then."

She considered. "Lethe."

"That's a strange name," he observed.

"Well, it's the name of a nymph." She crossed her arms, feeling like a very dorky nymph who actually knew a little bit of ancient mythology. Mythology didn't exactly rate very high in the wizarding world, but that didn't mean they were ignorant of it. They just saw it a little differently than Muggles and had their own versions of certain myths and Hermione had found it quite fascinating to compare the two. Not only that, she could probably write a thesis on the social, religious, and cultural influences behind every single similarity and difference in the Muggle and wizarding societies of today and _God_, was she being dorky now no matter what her costume was.

He tilted his head. "What kind of nymph?"

She had to give the short version or he'd catch on to the dorkiness. "She works in the Underworld. Those who drink from the river of Lethe earn oblivion from their mortal lives."

Something flashed in those fake blue eyes. "I think I'd like that very much."

At first Hermione didn't quite understand, but suddenly she realised what he meant and opened her mouth to protest that it wasn't an invitation and there certainly wasn't going to be any _drinking_ of any kind. Then she saw the hint of amusement in his eyes and the line of his mouth. Was he making fun of her? She frowned.

"You're not used to this," he said, sounding wondering. "You're not used to being flirted with."

She blushed, hoping the glamour at least hid some of her embarrassment. Time to change the subject. "And what may I call you?"

He shrugged. "What's a common Muggle name?"

"John?" she suggested.

He winced. "Not quite as pretty as Lethe, is it?"

"I thought you said Lethe was a strange name."

"It is, strange but still pretty."

Yeah, yeah. He had to say that. "John is common but...common," she replied.

"And that's what I asked for, isn't it?" His eyes sparkled with amusement. "You don't want to be here," he suddenly added.

The statement took her somewhat by surprise. "Um, sure I do. We're having a perfectly pleasant—"

"I don't mean talking to me. I mean here at the party. Come on." He grabbed her hand and began pulling her off towards a door.

"What are you doing?" she asked, not quite sure if she should object or not. She probably should, but what exactly was he going to do that could be so bad at a huge party like this?


	2. Chapter 2

**People who have me on alert will be sick of me yet. Am posting all five parts in one go. Sorry about that, people, hope you'll forgive it ;)**

**

* * *

**"People are getting drunk," he said, weaving them around a couple of very real-looking centaurs. They probably _were_ real. She'd also seen some goblins not long ago and she thought she'd recognised one of them. "Soon they will become nuisances," he continued. "Especially certain men who will like the anonymity and your...attributes. I'm guessing that either you're just really repulsed by me or you're not interested at all in that kind of attention."

"And you're currently assuming that I'm not repulsed by you, then."

They had reached a hallway that looked to belong to the private section of the mansion and he turned to her with an arrogant look. "You're not."

Were all purebloods really that conceited? "What makes you think that?" she asked, folding her arms across her chest.

"You're here, aren't you?" He reached behind his back and opened a door that led into a room she was certain they shouldn't be in, but before she could say anything, he had reached out, grabbed her, and had dragged her in and closed the door.

"You make a lot of assumptions," she drily commented, wondering how he seemed to know his way around in this place.

His lip quirked. It seemed to do that a lot. "I've been here before," he said in response to her unvoiced question. "And these mansions are all very much the same. You can relax, I'm not making _that_ kind of assumptions. If that was what I were after, it wouldn't be hard to find an accommodating witch who enjoyed being beautiful for one night enough to want to share her...attributes."

The problem was he was right. It had been obvious even to Hermione that people had used their disguises to tap into their more hedonistic ways. "What are you after, then?" she asked, taking in the room. It seemed to be a sort of private library, complete with several shelves of books, a big comfortable-looking furniture arrangement and a fireplace. It was a good call that nobody would want to come _here_ tonight. Deciding that she would personally much rather be in this room than out among hundreds of drunk witches and wizards looking for shallow pleasure, she walked over to the sofa and sat down.

He shrugged and followed her into the room. "Maybe I just like talking to you."

She rolled her eyes. "Yes. That _is_ what men look for at parties. Someone to talk to. I'm sure this dress just screamed 'conversationalist' at you."

When she looked at him again, she was surprised to see he looked mildly annoyed. "Do you know how easy it is to find sex and how hard it is to find someone to have a decent conversation with? Never mind the impossibility of finding someone who can qualify for both."

Hermione looked away again. She knew. Communication had been part of what had failed between her and Ron. She had neglected to talk, he had neglected to make her listen, and they had both led such separate lives that suddenly they had been nothing but strangers sharing an apartment. Still, it had been hard when he had moved out, leaving her truly alone.

Of course, she didn't advertise her failed relationship, which was why most people that didn't know her very well still thought they were together. She didn't disabuse them of the notion, but just pretended not to hear whenever someone mentioned it. They didn't need to know. They didn't need to pity her. Of course, Malfoy wouldn't pity her, he'd just make endless jabs about how she couldn't even keep someone like Ron's interest. She opted to not give him the chance by not correcting his assumptions.

"By that look on your face, I'm guessing you know exactly what I mean," her companion said, sitting down next to her. "So, what happened?"

"That's kind of personal, don't you think?" Hermione muttered.

"Yes, and I'll be sure not to tell anyone what the strange girl whose name or face I don't know told me."

Hermione shrugged, seeing his point. "Lack of communication destroyed my last relationship."

He raised an eyebrow. "Not lack of sex, then?"

She felt a blush spread from her neck up. "Eventually, that, too," she mumbled, not really wanting him to hear that part.

"So, he was an idiot that wouldn't listen?" he ventured.

"Not exactly," Hermione replied, sighing. "I was so wrapped up in everything else I wanted that I forgot to appreciate what I had. And then I just ended up not having it any more. I don't think I really realised how big our problems were until he moved out. He said it hadn't worked for months. I just...never noticed how unhappy he was. I thought it would all get better as soon as I reached my goals. I was wrong."

"It's unfair, isn't it? Some people have it so easy, while the rest of us...."

She shook her head. "I don't think anyone has it easy. Some of us just need to do better. A lot better."

"So, you want him back, then?"

Hermione paused. Did she? She didn't know anymore. It was true that she was lonely and she missed someone to come home to at night, but did she miss coming home to _Ron_? "I don't think so," she finally sighed. "I guess...I guess that maybe I was just used to the idea of him and me."

"A lady of habit," he muttered with a small smile. "I work with this woman. Really annoying. She thinks she's got reason to be unhappy because her job isn't what she wants it to be just yet and she wants it all to go faster. But she has everything that matters. Good for her, I suppose, but I really just want to wring her neck for not seeing it."

Hermione couldn't help but snigger a little. People with perfect lives really _were_ annoying. She decided to try and be fair, though. "It's human nature to focus on what you don't have. Nobody ever really realises what they have until they don't have it any longer. Maybe _you_ should be happier about what _you_ have."

He snorted. "And what would that be? I mean, I'm not starving. I have money. But even that just feels like another thing weighing me down—people always want something from me and I have no real motivation to do anything. Why really work when you don't need to and nothing interests you?"

"And there's just nothing else for you? Nothing you care about at all?"

He frowned and slowly shook his head. "My family moved away. I have no friends. The kind of girl I usually end up dating isn't exactly sticking around because of my winning personality. I don't need anything material, but I don't have anyone to share what I have with either. Whenever someone approaches me, I have to look for ulterior motives. I wish that just once I didn't find any. I mean, it's not like I'm not used to it, but, ultimately, there's nothing I want to do and no one I want to do it with. It's depressing."

"So you have money and little else."

He raised an eyebrow and turned his head to look at her. "I bet you're reconsidering the sex thing now, huh?"

"Don't be an arse," she said, wrinkling her nose. "_Some_ people don't work like that."

He shrugged. "I _am_ an arse. That's another thing. I'm not really a nice person.... I was never quite taught how to be one and the few times I tried to be, I failed miserably at it. I guess that doesn't help with relationships, huh?"

"You don't seem so bad," she disagreed.

"It's because you don't know who I am and hence don't expect me to be...me. It's not that I want to be a jerk, but it just doesn't take a lot of rejection for a man to learn to keep his distance...."

"Who rejected you?" It was strange how compelling it was to talk to this stranger.

He turned his head away. "I don't know," he muttered. "Nobody special. Just...I tried a few times to connect and it never worked. They didn't see past who I was, anyway. When I said I considered dating someone who wasn't a pureblood...I didn't mean it in the general sense. I actually liked a Muggle girl for a while as a kid. But she never even noticed that in my own slightly messed up way I tried to be nice to her. She just hated me on principle just like...like anyone else not driven by money and pride. I never had a chance with her or any of them. Nobody saw me trying and so I just stopped and began rejecting them before they rejected me. I suppose it was better that way, seeing as most of those people were on the other side during the war. I would have hated to fight them, but I still would have if asked. Even her."

"That's sad."

"I don't need you to pity me."

She thought for a second. "I don't."

He shot her a glance that said he clearly didn't believe her.

"Children can be stupid and cruel and you probably didn't deserve what you got, but in the end we're responsible for our own actions. You would have chosen to fight them you say, and, in that case, it really was better that they didn't think of you as a friend. If you don't want to be a git, then don't be one. If you want people to be your friends, then you have to be their friend. Friends don't fight friends."

He sighed. "It's not that simple."

"Sometimes it is."

He frowned at her. "Aren't you supposed to be patting my hand and agreeing that the whole world is against me?"

"I thought you didn't want pity."

"I guess I lied."

She snorted with laughter at his dry tone. Whoever he was, he was really something else. "Oh, come on," she said, leaning back against the sofa. "You can't just pout and expect me to instantly feel sorry for you and offer to hold you against my bosom and comfort you."

"Why not?" he asked, glancing at her without trying to hide the crooked smile on his face or exactly where he was looking. She instinctively crossed her arms across her much too exposed chest. "I could even show you what else would comfort me...."

She rolled her eyes. "Right. Now you're just being a brat."

His eyes widened slightly. "Ouch."

She couldn't quite figure out if he meant it or not, so she glanced uncertainly at him. That moment of uncertainty was a moment too long for him to maintain his serious expression and she found herself getting miffed that he'd actually let her think she'd offended him. "Ugh, now you _are_ a brat!"

He shrugged slightly. "Maybe I just want you to comfort me."

"Dream on."

The smile he flashed was a little sad. "I just might. I like you. You really aren't like the other women out there, are you?"

She thought of the witches that were currently 'sharing' their costumes. "I hope I'm not."

"I don't think you are, either. In spite of your very cold-hearted unwillingness to hold me against your bosom, it feels like you understand me...but maybe I'm just imagining that."

"I think I do understand you," she murmured. "I just think you can do better."

He sighed deeply. "Perhaps I can. I do try sometimes, you know. Or at least want to try. A few months ago I started my new job and I wanted to get along. But somehow...it's easier said than done. Old habits die hard, I guess. And people already know who I am and what I am.... It didn't take very long for things to be exactly as they've always been. I had actually wanted to—never mind."

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Well, now you have to tell me."

He shook his head. "It's nothing. I had just sort of hoped for more friendly relations at work, that's all. It didn't happen."

"Well, perhaps you still could be friends."

He smiled and slowly shook his head. "What? Miss Perfect will suddenly forget that she hates me and invite me to her wedding? I don't think so. There's more to this than I can tell you."

"People change," Hermione insisted. "And most people are willing to give second chances if they can see you're making an effort."

"I'm not sure I want anyone to see that."

That stopped Hermione up short. "Huh?"

"It's been too long, Lethe. Too much has happened over the years. I don't want people to see how miserable I am. I don't want them to see me as someone desperately trying to change because I'm lonely and want them to like me. I still have some pride, you know, and I also need to still be me."

"Do you really need to annoy people that badly?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

He grinned. "Yes."

When he wasn't about to elaborate, Hermione rolled her eyes. "So, you're essentially tripping the boys up and pulling the girls' pig-tails? Really mature."

His eye got a mischievous gleam. "But it works. Some girls even get off on getting their pig tails pulled. They won't notice you if you're nice, but if you're a bastard, they're all over you, either just wanting a ride or trying to figure out how to fix you. Of course, once they realise I'm not easily fixed, they might go away again, or they might stay for the very convenient millions of galleons that will fix just about anything that's wrong with a bloke in their eyes."

"And these are the kind of girls you want?" she drily asked. "That sounds healthy."

He was quiet for a moment. "Would nice work with you, Lethe? Do you like your men good?"

"Yep," she said without hesitation, not liking where this could be going. "Saintly, even."

"No, you don't," he quietly said, studying her with an unfathomable expression. "You wouldn't be content with good, either. Sure, you like a wizard to be good somewhere deep down, no kitten killers for you, but for that extra thrill...you need someone who keeps you on your toes or you lose interest. You need a challenge and someone to make sure that _you_ aren't _too_ good. I bet your ex had his very own not-so-good tendencies."

Hermione shook her head. "No, you're wrong. I've never been with any so-called _bad_ boys. Ro—uh, my _ex_, was and is a very good person."

"Never even fantasised about what it would be like to get naughty with someone who might not be good?" he asked, his voice getting lower, rougher. "Someone you couldn't control? Someone who might not owl you the next day? Someone who would quite possibly turn your life upside down and make you _like_ it?"

She opened her mouth to deny it, but she was just a fraction of a second too late in doing so and his smirk called her on it. "Whatever you think you're doing, stop it!" she finally managed. "I like mature, responsible men and I would never dream of—"

"I'm not doing anything," he interrupted, even as he reached for her, drawing her across his lap. "At least not anything you don't want me to. You may be hiding behind a mask and a fake name, but your eyes still betray you."

She shook her head and scrambled into a slightly more dignified position, ending up straddling him. "No, I don't—" she began, pushing slightly against him to get off.

He kissed her. It came as a shock, although it really shouldn't have. A jolt went clear through her body—a _thrill_.... This was insane. They were two strangers, who didn't even know each others' names or faces. They had no business doing this! His hands certainly had no business being on her thighs, holding her steady while his thumbs moved in slow, wonderful circles on her bare skin.

But she hadn't been kissed in more months than she cared to count and this felt too good to just stop.

His lips were softly caressing hers, belying the onslaught. His tongue was tracing the seam of her lips, asking for entrance and carefully exploring once she granted it. He wasn't forcing this on her; she had a feeling that she could easily push him away and he would let her go.

She knew he would probably misunderstand her response, but right now she didn't care. She just wanted to remember what it was like to have the world drop away. She wanted to remember what it was like to feel wanted. It didn't matter if the one he wanted was someone with perfect black, glossy curls, emerald green eyes and mother-of-pearl skin—it _felt_ like it was her and it was a heady experience.

He made a low sound of frustration and need and pulled her closer before deepening the kiss. She knew she should stop him. She knew this couldn't lead anywhere good. She _didn't_ want someone who felt the need to be 'bad', and he wouldn't want boring, ambition-driven Hermione Granger, who hadn't even been able to make it work with someone as loyal and safe as Ron Weasley.

So, naturally, she wrapped her arms tightly around him, blocking out all thought, concentrating on the sensations.

His one hand moved on her lower back, pressing her closer, while the other one was running further up her thigh, taking her dress with it. She didn't stop him. She was so engrossed that she barely remembered to breathe. Her pulse was racing and she could barely remember her own name. Oh, Merlin, if this was how _bad boys_ kissed, she really did need to seek them out.

Finally, he stopped and drew back a little. Just enough to speak. "When were you going to stop me?" he asked, his voice thick with suppressed need and his eyes...they didn't seem quite so fake anymore in spite of their vivid colour.

"I don't know," she answered truthfully.

He shook his head, a little sadly it seemed. "I was just provoking you. We both know you don't really want to do this. Not like this. Not when you aren't yourself."

She knew, yes. Her body didn't. She lowered her head to his neck and ran her tongue along the vein that was very visible right now. He hissed, crushing her against him, making her very aware of how his body felt against hers. It didn't feel bad at all. She felt the power she had over him as well as the power he had over her. This could become addictive. "Does it matter?" she asked huskily, kissing his lips again. "Isn't part of being bad not caring?"

For a few seconds it seemed he'd forgotten his objections, but then suddenly the warmth of his body was gone and she was sitting on the sofa alone while he was standing a few feet away, looking frustrated but determined.

"No," he said, his eyes and his hair both wild. "If I wanted a quick shag with some stranger, I would have gotten it from someone more obvious. I told you. I don't want to do this."

She felt a little stung but mostly just...dazed and confused. "You don't want me?"

"I do. Go out with me as yourself. Maybe after a few dates we could then take it further somewhere that _isn't_ here. Maybe we would even know each other's real names. I don't want this to be just another...thing. I'm tired of living like that."

She blinked. "I called you a brat and then you kiss me and then reject me for sex...and now you want a _date_?"

"We seem to talk well and that kiss...." He swallowed. "I can't just let you walk out of here and never see you again."

"I guess...," she muttered, the dazedness wearing off and panic setting in. This wasn't her. He might be willing to take the chance to be himself, but she was nothing like the girls he would be used to, nothing like the girls that would dress up as a nymph, wearing this revealing dress and snogging a complete stranger. He would be disappointed.

"So, what's your name?" he asked, his voice getting huskier again.

She shook her head. She couldn't tell him. It would ruin everything.

"It's easier for me to contact you if I have a name and possibly an address," he softly pointed out. "Sending an owl to 'the girl who called herself Lethe at the Ministry masked ball' might not work."

"I...I can't," she muttered, shaking her head again. "Sorry."

He frowned. "You can't or you won't?"

"Can't...won't...does it matter?"

His jaw clenched and his expression became shuttered. "So, you _will_ agree to have sex with me, but you're not interested in a simple date. I guess I misread your personality. Easy to do when you have nothing to go by and people are faking who they are."

Hermione gaped. "There was no act!"

"There really aren't that many reasons why someone would be so dead set against giving away their identity. So it probably means that there's someone you don't want to know about this. A boyfriend. Maybe even a husband. They don't usually appreciate it when you _date_ other blokes, do they?"

"There is no one," she quietly said.

"Why did you lead me on, then?"

She shook her head.

"Was it really that hard to imagine that I might want to see you again? Or was it really that easy to forget everything I told you?"

"This isn't even me. You don't even know me."

"I would _like_ to get to know you. That's the whole point!"

"No, you wouldn't."

"That's for me to decide, isn't it?"

"You would like to know _Lethe_. I'm not Lethe. And you're not John, either."

"Maybe you just think you aren't Lethe. Maybe you're not really who you think you are."

"I know who I am, _John_, you just don't."

"Would it help if I told you my name first?"

"No. I don't want to know."

"Because then I might be a real person and not just some stranger you could be with and forget about the next day because you'll never have to face him again."

"That's not fair."

He looked away. "Fine. If that's what you want...I guess I can't make you."

Hermione didn't know what to respond to that. She wished she believed there could _be_ more, but she would rather have the fantasy of tonight than the crushing disappointment of tomorrow. Yes, he had a few bratty tendencies but overall he actually seemed sweet and sincere. Something that certain men were good at being for exactly one night and then no longer.

She got to her feet and was about to go when she was stopped by a hand on her shoulder. "Just one more kiss?" he murmured in her ear.

Slightly confused, she didn't resist when he turned her and covered her lips with his. Her eyes closed as she once again felt alive. They had chemistry, that was for certain.

The excitement of the unknown, she rationalised.

His hand applied just the tiniest bit of pressure to her back, bringing her closer, his kiss rising in intensity. It was hard to think, but a part of Hermione wondered why he was kissing her like this when he clearly wasn't interested in taking it further tonight and she had just refused to see him again.

Then his other hand nudged one of her dress's straps, baring her shoulder and the top of her breast, and her suspicion flared. What was he doing? Had he decided to just get what he could from this thing? Her eyes opened and fell on the clock on the mantelpiece. It was almost midnight. Everyone's glamour would automatically lift at midnight. He was distracting her, keeping her here, so her identity would be revealed to him.

He was trying to manipulate her, trick her into being revealed in front of him by pretending he wanted this.

He was planning to find out who she was against her will. For the first time she sensed that perhaps he did have a ruthless streak. The obstacle was identity and he was going to eliminate that obstacle.

And ruin everything in the process.

Feeling a hint of betrayal she pushed away from him, perhaps with more force than she needed to, and said, "I have to go now."

It gave her some satisfaction to see that it took him a few seconds to collect his thoughts enough to respond. At least he wasn't immune to his own ministrations. "I thought you wanted this."

"Time's up." She made no effort to hide that she had figured him out.

He, in turn, made no effort to hide what he'd been doing. "I hoped you wouldn't notice."

"I say no and so you force me?" she coolly asked, sliding her strap back up in place and straightening her dress as best she could, feeling strangely disappointed. She realised she had hoped she'd been wrong.

"I don't know why you're so scared of letting me see who you are. It won't matter to me and if that's all that's holding you back...."

"I'm going to go now." She turned her back on him again.

"Wednesday," he said, making her stop with her hand on the door. "I'll be in Diagon Alley most of the day. There's this café next to Gringotts where I'll be working for most of the afternoon and probably into the night. I, uh, don't work well at the office, and I have no reason to go home. I should be easy enough to spot even without a physical description. I'll be the one that's alone. Working. Waiting for you."

"Why would I be there?" she asked.

"It's four days away. By then you hopefully decided that I'm not going to hex you. But please, if you get there and don't like who you see, don't just walk out again without at least saying hi to me. Even if you decide you don't like me on sight."

She grunted noncommittally.

"Please be there."

She chewed her lip for a moment. "Maybe."

She heard him let out his breath on a long sigh. He really did want her to be there. Maybe she was being foolish in not wanting to get to know him. She glanced at the clock—only a few minutes left. She opened the door. Four days would probably be enough time to convince herself that it could work, but four minutes certainly wasn't.

She hurried away from the room and off the property so she could Disapparate to her apartment. No sooner had she popped into existence than she felt the glamour disappear.

Back to being herself again.


	3. Chapter 3

A hand was stretched out just outside of her vision. Hermione glanced up at its owner and sighed. "What do you want?"

"The report," Malfoy smoothly answered.

"You said it wasn't due until Tuesday!"

"Yes, but I know you have it."

Hermione scowled and handed him the report.

He shook his head. "Always so predictable, Granger.... You just can't help yourself, can you?"

"I don't see _you_ complaining about that fact."

"Of course not. It makes my life immensely easier that you are so neurotic when it comes to work that you can't leave off for even a minute."

"I am _not_ neurotic about work!"

"Of course you are. You were the same at school. Always stressing because you couldn't do everything at once, believing that the world would end if you didn't know every single little thing. It's quite a wonder you ever looked up long enough to manage to become engaged to that Weasel of yours."

"His name is Ron," she hissed out through clenched teeth.

"And how is he doing? What was it he did for a living? Practical jokes?" He snorted. "Why doesn't he get a real job? Or is he actually aspiring to be as dirt poor as his parents?"

Hermione crossed her arms, feeling very defensive. "He's doing quite well, actually. He and George are opening up their third shop next month and he's currently earning more than twice of what he would have made as an Auror."

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "Really? He just cheap, then? Can't spare a few galleons to give his intended something nice to wear so she won't have to wear..."

He made some loose gesture. "That."

Hermione blushed, more with anger than embarrassment. There was nothing wrong with her robes. They were black and serviceable and it wasn't as if she really saw that many people around here. "I told him to save his money," she bit out. "It does a lot more good put towards long-term investments than spent on frivolities."

He grinned. "Please do tell me you said that right after he _gave_ you a present."

Her blush deepened. How could he be right about this?

His grin widened. "And you made him take it back? I almost feel sorry for the poor bloke."

She scowled, not liking where this was going. "He couldn't afford it. It was too much. Of course he had to take it back."

"So, your fiancé at some point in time decided to get you a big gift to show you that he cared, getting something he couldn't really afford which would have to mean he would have to go without some things, and you refused it, talking about money and investments instead of appreciating the gesture like a normal person? Now I _do_ feel sorry for him. Please give him my condolences."

He sauntered off, leaving Hermione in a state of shock. This had happened quite a while ago, right before things had seriously gone wrong. She had always assumed Ron hadn't truly tried to get through to her, but maybe he had. Maybe it had just been her. Maybe he had actually tried to show her that he still cared and she had paid no attention whatsoever to his efforts.

When the tears came, she was powerless to stop them and for once she was grateful that Malfoy avoided work like the plague.

**********

What was worse? Being a failure at relationships or being a failure at her job? Hermione spent a good part of her Tuesday morning pondering this. If she could just have one, what would it be? The greater good or her own happiness? And could those two even be separated? She wanted to do good. She _needed_ to do good. She needed to know that the world would be just marginally better for her having been in it.

But did that really mean she had to sacrifice her personal life? She had messed things up with Ron, but now she knew what she had done wrong. She wouldn't be making the same mistake twice.

She could have a relationship.

Wouldn't she just be hurting herself for no reason if she didn't go to see Muggle-wannabe John tomorrow? It was true, they might not be attracted to each other as themselves, but maybe they could at least be friends. It would really be cowardice to just stay away because it _might_ not work out. Maybe he really was a sweet person, someone who could make her life just a little more bearable.

She would go. She needed to return her costume, anyway.

"Daydreaming during office hours. Careful, someone might notice that you aren't saving the world one memo at a time."

Hermione scowled up at her least favourite person. She was having some very deep and meaningful revelations here, how dare he interrupt?

He just ignored her scowl. "I was wondering, exactly how many hags were present at that party?"

"How would I know?"

"Well, who else would you hang around?" He looked thoughtful. "Can't have been that many. I mean, I saw a few, but I bet half of them were _actual_ hags.... Normal people try to look _better_ than they normally do. Not that I'm implying that you are better-looking than a hag by any means, wouldn't want to offend your sensibilities like that."

Hermione uttered a heartfelt sigh. When Malfoy got started there was no way to stop him. "You're right, I should really stop daydreaming and get back to work. Nice talking to you."

Again, she was completely ignored. "Take Brunhilde down from Magical Transportation. You know her, right? Incredibly fat. Extremely good baking skills, though."

Hermione glared.

"Yeah, I see you know the one." He was completely unfazed. "I have no doubt that you left the dance before the unmasking because you have to be in bed by ten otherwise Father Christmas might not bring you those warts, but Brunhilde, alas, didn't."

She wondered where this was going.

"Good! I was counting on you not having heard!" He took a seat. This was a very bad sign. It meant he meant to stay for longer than just a minute. "See, Brunhilde is not an unhappy person, but she's as vain as the next witch—provided they aren't you—and she didn't want to go as an Erumpent, so she cheated. With a little help from a nice bloke down Knockturn Alley, she got a costume that was a little more than a glamour, using a Polyjuice variant."

"Is there a point to this?"

"I know you're eager to get to my brilliant point, but you'll just have to wait for it. Now, the Polyjuice variant worked as it was supposed to, and she was having the night of her life as a beautiful Veela, something that was probably nothing like what Brunhilde ever experienced before. However, there was one thing she hadn't accounted for."

He paused expectantly, staring Hermione down until she rolled her eyes and asked, "What was that, then?"

"The unmasking," he said with a satisfied smirk. "It lifted the effect of her slimming disguise and being about six times the size, she didn't fit into her clothes anymore. They ripped and tore as she blew up, leaving her just about as naked as when she was born, trying to hide behind her thin-as-a-reed husband who obviously doesn't appreciate her baking skills."

"Poor woman," Hermione drily said. "Although I'm sure _you_ had the time of your life."

"It was amusing," he conceded. "But Brunhilde has never been one to let things get her down. Besides, most people like her and her fairy cakes too much to be mean to her for long. She'll survive."

"But you still haven't made your point."

His smile was slow and calculated, making her realise that he'd just been waiting for her to ask. "Do you think that Brunhilde would rather have been an Erumpent, and never have suffered a moment of embarrassment, or do you think that given the choice, she would go as a Veela again?"

"I still fail to see your point," Hermione insisted, although she knew very well where this was going.

"Hiding with the hags while others were having fun, Granger? What are you afraid of?"

"Oh, I don't know," Hermione said with a sigh. "Maybe I'm afraid that people will bore me to death with their lame stories and amateur psychology."

Malfoy just smiled. He seemed completely unable to take offense. It was annoying. "Or maybe you're as afraid of success as you are of failure. Now, wouldn't that be funny?"

She gave him her best death stare.

"Don't give me those lovey-dovey eyes, what wouldn't Weasley think? Get some work done!" And finally, he got up and left.

Hermione sighed and reminded herself that it was just a few more months and then she would never ever have to see Malfoy again. Ever. And if she did, she could hex him without getting fired.

**********

"So, did you enjoy your costume?"

Hermione gave the smug shopkeeper a pained smile. She really didn't like it when people thought they knew better and forced things on her—especially not when they turned out to be right. It always made them quite intolerable. "I survived," she neutrally said.

He raised an eyebrow at her and regarded her sceptically. "You didn't have fun? I gave you all the tools, all you had to—"

"Luckily, it wasn't your responsibility," Hermione muttered, ignoring the offended look he shot her.

Abandoning the skimpy dress in the capable hands of the pushy salesman, Hermione decided she had some time to kill before she could go to the café. Not really knowing what to do with that time, she decided to just browse the clothes for a while. Apart from costumes they also rented out formal wear. Something that Hermione did have a use for from time to time and couldn't afford to buy. With her current wages, she could hardly afford the rent. She really ought to find a new place now that Ron had moved out, but.... Anyway, she wanted to see if it would be worth to come back and rent for the next function in spite of the pushy shopkeeper.

In any case, she hadn't meant to leave the office quite this early. But when Malfoy had left for lunch, she had decided to slip out before he got back in order to avoid his interrogations. Or, well, _if_ he came back. He didn't always. It was just that with her luck, he _would_ come back, and, besides, she was feeling too anxious to get anything done.

She went a bit deeper into the store and was trying to identify a very strange garment that seemed to be just patches of fabric put together in no particular order with too many openings to fit a normal human form, when she heard another customer enter. At first, she didn't pay any attention, but then she thought the person sounded familiar and froze.

_No, that can't be!_ She peeked around the shelf, and then shrank back. Great, just what she needed—for Malfoy to catch her here. Not that she was doing anything she shouldn't—it was still her lunch hour, after all—but he just had such a habit of prodding and poking where he had absolutely no business, and he would no doubt find some way to ridicule her if he found out she was here.

"Did you enjoy your costume, sir?" the assistant asked in a rather flat tone. Hermione assumed that Malfoy must have pissed him off at some point. He was good at that.

"Immensely," Malfoy answered with that good cheer that was aimed to annoy even further.

"Glad to hear it," was the dry reply. "So, what was it exactly that was so enjoyable? The blending in with the wallpaper or just the total lack of imagination you exhibited?"

"I'll have you know that I was the only one with a costume like this. I was being unique."

"Yes, you are a snowflake."

Hermione bit back a giggle at the miffed shopkeeper, for the first time wondering just what Malfoy _had_ been wearing.

"Listen," Malfoy was suddenly saying in a more serious voice. "Any chance you could tell me who rented another costume? A nymph with dark hair and green eyes. Silver dress."

There was a short pause, all the more emphasized by the stillness as Hermione's heart stopped beating and her breath caught in her throat, as she rejected the impossible.

"You know we have a policy of complete discretion," the other man then said, sounding slightly bewildered. "Sorry."

"Come on, you'd be doing everyone a favour. I could even make it worth your while, if you like."

"I'm sure that if your nymph wanted to be found, she would be," the shopkeeper said, sounding indignant. "Besides, we rented out so many, I really couldn't be sure."

"You know exactly who it was!" Malfoy was sounding irritable now.

"If I see her again, I could let her know you were looking for her," the man offered, his voice inviting no argument, but knowing Malfoy, he would get one just the same.

Hermione stopped listening. She shouldn't have listened in the first place. It was bad manners. Really, what had she been thinking? She took a few careful steps backwards. There were so many women dressed as beautiful beings at that party. It was probably a coincidence that he had met a nymph that night. It was a coincidence that he had been wearing a costume that the assistant would find dull.

A hundred other coincidences came crashing through her head, making Hermione dizzy. She clutched her stomach, afraid that she was going to lose its contents.

Not him. _Anyone_ but him.

He had lied to her. He must have. For one thing, he had talked about _working_. Hah. That was a laugh. And...and....

Hermione felt her eyes fill with tears.

He had tricked her. He had made her think that he was someone worth knowing, someone she might form a connection with. He wasn't. She knew him well enough to know that he wasn't the person he had pretended to be. If he found out that she had been Lethe, he'd just mock her for it. That was, if he could get over the fact that he'd kissed her. And he would be angry that _she_ had tricked _him_ and would make her life a living hell until he left. She couldn't allow that.

As quietly and hidden as possible, she tried making her way around the store so she could slip out unnoticed. It was probably safer to just wait, but she felt like she was suffocating. She needed fresh air.

She had almost reached the door when suddenly Malfoy gave up his arguing and whirled around to leave. She froze, hoping against hope that he was the kind of predator that could only see its prey when it moved.

"Granger?" he said, an undercurrent of anger still in his voice. "Returning the hag costume, are we? You know, most people would take it off first."

Hermione's stomach clenched in a very uncomfortable way, and she had to forcibly keep from hugging herself. "This coming from the peacock."

He stuck his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. "It was come as you aren't, remember? Why would I come as myself?"

"And yet you continue with the hag jokes. Either I am not one or I didn't come as one. Make up your mind." Her eyes flickered towards the shopkeeper, who didn't even try to hide his interest in the exchange.

"You wish to be one," Malfoy just answered. "I'm merely humouring you. But how does Weasley feel about coming home to a hag?"

Hermione's stomach clenched again and she bit back a moan. She was actually becoming physically ill. "Why...why don't you ask him?" she forced out.

He frowned and took a step back, even though there was plenty of room between them. "Are you going to be sick?"

Hermione laughed in spite of herself. "Maybe."

His frown deepened and a brief look of confusion flashed across his features. She supposed she might be acting a little odd. "Well, stay away from me," he said. "Go home and make that miserable man of yours ill instead."

Hermione just weakly nodded as he went around her and out the door. Going home sounded really good.

She looked up and caught the eye of the shopkeeper, who raised his eyebrow at her. "Guess someone had fun after all."

**********

Hermione slowly walked along Diagon Alley, not quite able to gather her wits enough to try and Disapparate—even if she was just going home. Maybe there was some way she could be mistaken. It couldn't be him. It just couldn't be _him_. Never mind the stories of loneliness—he had kissed her and touched her and they had almost... _she_ had almost....

She couldn't even think it.

What if she had gone down to the café and he had seen her and realised who she was? She could just imagine the look on his face and it made her feel even sicker.

She wished she had never wanted to come here in the first place. If she had just stayed at work, dismissing this thing as an innocent one-night fling as she should have, she wouldn't be burdened with this extremely uncomfortable knowledge now.

How was she ever going to look him in the eye again?

She looked up and found that she was close to Gringotts. What if this was a bizarre misunderstanding on her part and he wasn't John, after all? What if some other wizard was currently waiting for her inside that café?

She had to make sure.

Feeling like a stalker, she slowly crept slower to the café he must have been talking about. Taking great pains not to be seen from the inside, she then peeked in one of the oversized windows. It was lunch hour, so a lot of people were currently seated. She knew what she was looking for, though, and it didn't take her many seconds to find the blond head among the masses. He was alone and appeared to be working—which she had to take a few seconds to get over—but worst of all, he kept glancing up every time someone entered. As if expecting someone any second.

Maybe he was supposed to meet a friend, or he had a meeting with someone from work, or....

Hermione gave herself a shake. Enough with the excuses. There was no one else in there that fit John's description of himself.

Trembling slightly, she took a few steps backwards and then Disapparated back to her flat.

**********

Owling in sick the next day was really tempting. Hermione even almost did it. She caught herself at the last minute, though, and gave herself a scolding for being such a coward. She would have to face him someday. Staying home just postponed the inevitable and made it that much harder.

So, she went in.

When Malfoy got there—late, of course—she got so flustered she almost knocked over her ink. Then, as she righted the ink, she managed to push a whole pile of paperwork to the floor. He frowned disapprovingly at her, and she did her very best to hide the furious blush that she could feel in her cheeks as she jumped up and began collecting the scrolls of parchment. Naturally, it took extra long to pick it all up because her hands shook.

He just watched without a word. It was unnerving. Malfoy always had words. Was he ill? That was the most preferable explanation she could think of, because she didn't want it to be that he _knew_.

In the end, she got her things in order and sat back down, doing her best to ignore his silent gaze. It worked for all of five minutes.

"What?" she finally snapped, looking up at him. She was really, really thankful that he looked nothing like the man she had been with that night. If he had, she might have to think of the way his hands had caressed her and his lips.... Oh, God. This was bad.

"Why are you here?" he just asked.

"I...work here?" she ventured.

"You're sick. Go home before you infect everyone around you."

"There's no one around me except you and I imagine that in a few seconds you will go into your office, pretend to work for a few hours, and then you will leave and I won't see you for the rest of the day. I really don't think you'll catch anything."

"What about our boss? And everyone else?" he demanded.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "The boss is not in today. He's out for meetings all day, meaning he's out selling his soul to anyone with a smidgen of social influence at the expense of non-humans. As for everyone else, well, we just have so many people coming through this office, don't we?"

Nobody ever came here if they could help it, and they both knew it.

Malfoy sighed. "Just go home, Granger. It doesn't even matter if you're here today or not. It won't make the least difference. There's more to life than work, no reason killing yourself over it."

As he turned away, Hermione noticed that his face looked drawn and he seemed dejected. He hadn't even offended her yet.

She wilfully stomped a pang of guilt. It probably didn't have anything to do with 'Lethe'.

**********

The next few days Hermione's guilt and worry grew. Malfoy just didn't seem quite himself. He didn't try to make her life miserable, which was actually quite the improvement, but it was the _way_ he didn't do it. He just seemed lost in thought and mostly barricaded himself in his office.

Could it be that he really fancied some strange girl he only met once that much? She hadn't even been real! None of it had. Not the talking or the kissing. It had been the anonymity going to their heads, making them do things they otherwise wouldn't. Nothing else.

Maybe it wasn't that at all. Maybe...his pet basilisk just died. Right. She needed to work on her theories, they were getting worse all the time.

The secret was choking her.

But what could she do? She couldn't tell him that it had been her. That wouldn't benefit anyone. He'd probably be even more angry and upset, and she would almost certainly not have a position at the Ministry anymore. No, there had to be some other way.

She was woken from her reverie by a load of parchment being dumped on her desk. Startled, she looked up at a very determined-looking Malfoy. Great. He was back to over-loading her with work.

"How much do you know about people around here, Granger?" he asked.

She blinked. "Uh, what I need to, I guess.... Why?"

He rolled out a parchment. "These are the complete guest list for the Ministry function. I need to find any witch below the age of...let's say forty...that works here at the Ministry. If you're in doubt, just tick them off." He pushed the stack towards her and sat down on the other side of her desk, beginning work himself.

Hermione stared. "How on earth did you get this?"

"Contacts. Apparently, it's easier to get a guest list for an official international Ministry party from a diplomat sworn to secrecy than to get one simple name from a bloke with a costume shop down in Diagon Alley. It really makes you wonder."

It was deeply disturbing, actually. "I'm not doing this," she announced. "It's not part of my job and I have actual _work_ to do."

He shot her an annoyed glance. "Your _work_ can wait. You're not doing anything important anyway. This is important. This might change something."

"What? You looking for a date?" She was stalling. Even knowing that the odds of him finding anything he could use were slim to none, she didn't like to see how determined he was trying.

What if he _did_ find out?

"You could say that," he absent-mindedly replied. He'd already ticked off twelve women.

"Wouldn't it be easier to just, you know, go ask someone?"

The glare he sent her could quite possibly burn holes in less stern stuff. "I'm looking for one particular witch, Granger. I just happen to not know her name. Or face. If I narrow this list down, then I might find her anyway, and _you_ will help me because you know I own you until your performance has been reviewed."

He was right. Hermione didn't particularly like to be owned and she certainly didn't like helping Malfoy with his search. Maybe she could just...cheat a bit.

Yes, that was what she needed to do. Cheat. Somehow convince him that 'Lethe' wasn't anyone worth looking for. But right now, she supposed she had to do this.

She sighed. "So, do you think Brunhilde is past forty yet?"

His pet basilisk probably didn't die, she surmised, because with a glare like the one he was currently sending her way, who needed basilisks? She smiled at him as sweetly as she possibly could, enjoying that, for once, he was the annoyed party.


	4. Chapter 4

"So...you say a brown owl delivered this?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes."

"What breed?"

"I'm supposed to know the breeds of 'brown owl' now?" Hermione glanced at Malfoy, making sure to communicate annoyance.

He sighed irritably. "It's your _job_ to know!"

"Owls really aren't all that magical, but if I ever get the task of cataloguing the brown owls indigenous to Britain, I'll let you know."

"Fine. How big was it?"

Hermione wearily rubbed her forehead. Faking a note from 'Lethe' had perhaps not been her best idea. "I'd say it was about...owl-sized."

"Owl-sized?" He put his hands on her desk and leaned down, looking quite intimidating, actually. He was certainly not amused. "Are you making fun of me, Granger?" His voice was the kind of silky calm that warned you that you might want to run now.

"What do you want me to say?" she demanded.

"I want you to tell me about the bloody owl, is what I want!"

He was actually furious. Hermione was still a bit shocked about that. It wasn't that he was upset; it was the sheer intensity of his emotions. 'Lethe' certainly seemed to be getting under his skin.

And now 'she' had sent him a note that she knew perfectly well who he was and they had had a nice evening together, but that she really wasn't interested in pursuing it, asking him not to ask about her or look for her further.

Malfoy, apparently, had decided to ignore that last bit.

"I told you what I know!"

"Did it have spots?"

"Spots?"

"Yeah, spots, stripes, anything that would help me identify it!"

Hermione stared at him incredulously. "It was an _owl_. Go up to the owlery and you'll probably find 200 brown owls, but I wouldn't be able to tell you one from the other!"

"Bloody worthless," he growled. "How could you not notice a simple owl?"

"Maybe because I'm not as _obsessive_ as you!"

She had hoped to feel better after sending the note, but she didn't. The door to his office had been open as he had read it and she had seen the look on his face. For a long time he'd just been frozen, staring at the rejection—that Hermione now regretted she hadn't written in a gentler manner, but she had really just tried to make him give it up—and then he'd gotten that horrible dejected look on his face again.

Of course, the next step had been anger. Hermione supposed she was lucky that he had spent the worst of it smashing his office _before_ marching out and demanding answers from her.

"I may be obsessive, but you're just a useless waste of space!" he shot back. "Go on, get back to pushing papers about pixies and garden gnomes. Who cares about _people_, right?"

Hermione stared at the door in wide-eyed shock and what felt suspiciously like hurt long after he'd slammed it behind himself.

**********

Things didn't improve much over the next few days. Hermione discovered that a moody Malfoy was definitely worse than a mocking Malfoy. Fortunately, he didn't quite blow up at her again, but his demeanour towards her was positively chilling.

Suddenly, the office was a very cold and lonely place to work.

She understood that he needed to blame someone for the note and right now she was the easiest one to place that blame on—that the blame was placed in exactly the right place was just ironic.

Every day was worse than the next. Not because they were really worse, per se, but because they were the same and it just ate away at her. She didn't like this new hostile environment. Not that the old environment had been all that friendly, but there was something remarkably changed about it now. It was much colder. Wasn't there a way for him to just get over it so things could get back to the way they were? She would give anything for him to scoff at her hair right about now.

She could only imagine his reaction if she'd actually revealed her identity to him. If he could hate her so passionately just for not noticing the markings of an owl, he would be positively murderous if he found out that she'd been the one to fool him in the first place. Never mind that she hadn't meant to fool anyone.

She really didn't think she could handle the force of that kind of hate.

Feeling miserable, she got ready for another solitary lunch at her desk. Normally, she might have sought Harry out when she felt like this, but he hadn't been in for a couple of weeks now. He was out on some mission somewhere, getting his adventure fix. Besides, she was supposed to be carrying a grudge that he had Malfoy placed in her department in the first place.

This sucked.

The fact that Malfoy was actually around only made it worse. It wasn't as easy to ignore the silence as when she was alone.

This couldn't possibly be good for her digestion.

"Why don't you ever go out?"

Hermione almost choked on her sandwich when Malfoy spoke to her. It was such a new and disturbing experience after the days of silence. "Some of us work _here_," she managed to get out after she had swallowed the wayward crumbs.

"I mean for lunch. There's a cafeteria, you know. With people in it. Taking _their_ lunch."

She scowled at his statement of the obvious, ignoring the little excited flutter that he was speaking to her. "I don't see _you_ ever going there."

He merely raised his eyebrows. "I sincerely doubt you're waiting for me to go, which means you're avoiding the question."

Hermione shrugged, feeling too mentally exhausted to care what he knew. "I don't really know anyone anyway. Here I can at least get some work done while eating."

He shook his head at her. "It's not all about work, Granger. Why can't you see that?"

He turned away to leave, but she stopped him. "Why don't you ever go to the cafeteria, then?"

There was a hesitation, and for a moment she didn't think he'd reply.

"They don't want me there."

Hermione blinked and frowned. "What? Who?"

He half-turned with a sardonic smile. "Don't look so surprised, Granger. You don't want me here, either. Everyone knows I'm forced to be here and everyone knows why. It's a matter of public record. Everyone can go look up every single detail and I imagine that most people did months ago."

"So what?" she asked, feeling bewildered. "You were not the only one on the other side in the war. You were not the only one that _changed_ sides, either. You aren't even the only one working a lousy temporary job here at the Ministry as punishment."

"No," he muttered. "But I'm the only Malfoy. 'The Malfoys didn't turn for personal ambition or gain. In fact, they gave up personal ambition to help the side of the light. The logical course would have been for Narcissa Malfoy _née_ Black to betray Harry James Potter at his time of need for the promise of a position of glory, but the fact that she did not do so shows that she recognised the error of her ways and sought to remedy them. And let us not forget: had she not boldly lied to the face of Tom Marvolo Riddle a.k.a. Lord Voldemort—" he winced at the name "—then the outcome of the war in all probability would have been wholly undesirable.'"

Hermione just stared.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "I thought you'd be the first one to look up the files from the trial. It was part of the defence speech that acquitted my family from most of the charges. It's a load of nonsense, of course. There would never have been a 'position of glory' for us, but it was enough to convince our old 'friends' that, apart from being pivotal for the outcome of the war, we are completely unpredictable turncoats—much less desirable than the predictable turncoats, I can tell you—and the other side isn't quite as forgiving as you'd expect from the so-called good guys. They still don't trust us."

"Sins of the mother?"

"Oh, believe me. The sins of the father _and_ the son play a part in it as well. Apparently, I should have seen my family killed rather than follow orders." He wasn't even hiding his bitterness at this judgment.

"But I've _seen_ you get along with people," Hermione weakly insisted.

"I can still make most of their lives miserable if they don't play nice. Doesn't mean they really want to. Besides...my reason for not taking lunch in the cafeteria definitely beats yours."

She couldn't really argue with that. If this was true, then he had probably been telling 'Lethe' the truth about how alone he felt. It disturbed her in a way she couldn't really put her finger on.

But even more disturbing—to the point of distraction—was the almost giddiness she felt that he seemed to be talking to her again.

**********

Hermione looked up at the cloaked Malfoy in front of her. "You're leaving early. Again. What a surprise. You know, the day you put in a full day's work there will be a Ministry celebration." She was quite proud of the amount of dryness in her voice. Not too subtle and not too overdone. Practice truly did make perfect.

"I have a lunch date."

"No, you don't. I have your schedule, you know."

He just flashed her a condescending smile. "I have a lunch _date_."

"Oh." Hermione did a double take. "Oh." She frowned with dismay. "Give up on that other elusive female, then? Lose her glass shoe?"

"Huh?"

"Never mind, Muggle fairy tale," she muttered. "You stopped trying to find that witch?"

He just shrugged nonchalantly. "She doesn't want to be found by me and told me as much. She could have walked in here any time and at least let me see who she was, but she didn't. What am I supposed to do about it? I don't know who she is, I don't know _where_ she is, and I certainly don't know why she would rather be a cold bitch than come talk to me in person. So, I thought that instead of waiting around for anything to change, I might as well date."

"I see," Hermione murmured, feeling a bit uncomfortable. She wasn't a cold bitch! She had just...seen no other way.

He cocked an eyebrow. "What? That's it? No passionate defence of the witch? No telling me that I could be wrong? That's a first. You usually like to jump to the defence of anyone whose motives aren't fully known."

She shook her head, still feeling uncomfortable. "It's your life."

"Really, Granger, you disappoint me," he said, adjusting his sleeve. "You could at least have argued that she might have been sick or somehow prevented from seeing me."

"That wouldn't explain the note, would it?" She supposed with a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach that that _had_ seemed cold.

"No, it wouldn't. And I checked."

"What?" Hermione had to concentrate not to stare dumbly.

Malfoy shrugged again. "Had to consider all possibilities. But since there were no grave accidents to any Ministry employee or any of their family—although Eric down in Magical Games and Sports, or rather his wife, did have a baby boy—I had to assume that was not it. Of course, the note confirmed my findings."

"Well, good for you," she vaguely replied, focusing on the paper in front of her and trying not to show her discomfort. "Does this mean that you _will_ be back from lunch or that you _won't_?"

He just smirked. "Don't wait up."

She didn't think so. He didn't really make it a habit to return whenever he went out. Dating during work hours was sort of new, though. Perhaps he hoped for 'Lethe' to find out and react? But that wouldn't make any sense. She had told him that she didn't want to see him and to stop looking, so why would she care if he went out with others?

She spent the rest of the afternoon alternating between wondering if Malfoy's date was pretty and reminding herself that it didn't matter.

**********

Hermione watched Malfoy get ready to go out for the third day in a row. Naturally, he had no actual work plans. He really didn't have those that often. Mostly, when he went out it was just to skive off work with no real purpose other than that.

But she had noticed that he took extra care with his appearance.

It was another date.

"So you must really like her, then," she observed as neutrally as possible.

"Like who?" he absentmindedly asked as he was taking care not to wrinkle his robes. Why, she couldn't fathom. She honestly didn't think he believed in wearing the same robes twice.

"The witch you've been seeing, obviously."

He looked up at her with a confused frown. "Which witch?"

"Ok, something isn't working in this conversation," she muttered. "You _are_ going on a date, aren't you?"

"Well, yes."

"So, why do you not understand what I'm saying?"

Finally something cleared in his expression. "Ah, you're assuming it's the _same_ person."

Hermione's jaw dropped. "You've been out with _three_ different witches in three days?"

"No, actually," he said, finally looking ready to go. "Six. I thought about making it three a day, but I can really only handle two at the most."

Hermione shook her head, because there seemed to be words coming out of his mouth that she couldn't quite comprehend. "Three...six...two... _why_?"

He pursed his lips, looking rather amused. "Well, since I'm looking, I might as well be looking hard, no?"

Before she could think of a suitable answer, he had left.

What was going on?

**********

A few days later, Hermione was almost completely sure she knew what was going on.

Malfoy hadn't given up.

He was working his way through the available—and a few that were technically less available—women at the Ministry as fast as he possibly could. A surprising amount of witches apparently didn't mind his insane dating schedule, because they actually went out with him.

Hermione supposed agreeing was easier than arguing with him. It usually was. Besides, rumour had it that he was auditioning for a much more lucrative position than anyone would ever find working at the Ministry. One could hardly blame the women to want to at least see if they could get along with him, since the prize could potentially be rather large.

But Hermione knew he was just looking for 'Lethe'. He hadn't as much as implied it, but it became more and more obvious that he was becoming frustrated with the whole thing and she had a suspicion that he was really more interested in who would turn him down than who would accept.

Of course, he would never dream of asking her, so she was safe. As far as he was concerned, she was still happily engaged to Ron and hence not a likely candidate. Besides, he saw her every day. A meal with her wouldn't be likely to suddenly reveal anything to him.

No, he was assuming that he didn't usually see 'Lethe' and that he would know who she was from being in her presence for a mere hour. Obviously he wouldn't—because 'Lethe' was a _fantasy_. She wished he would realise that.

As the list got shorter and shorter, so did his temper. He became unreasonable and rude to an extent that Hermione had rarely seen before. She began to dread seeing him because his words were beginning to cut her in places she didn't know she had, but she felt so guilty that she accepted it without any real resistance. She even covered for him a few times when the boss asked for him. Not that Malfoy would ever really get in trouble but...still. Before the dating scheme, he was usually around at least a few afternoons a week and if Magical Law Enforcement heard how lax things were around here, they might pile on his punishment.

She had to wonder why she didn't want that to happen anymore, but she ended back at guilt again. That was the only logical reason she could think of why she wouldn't want him to face consequences for his own actions.

One day, weeks later, he flopped down in the chair in front of her desk and just stared into space. Hermione flinched as he sat down, but when he didn't say anything, she decided to begin the exchange to get it over with.

"Let me guess: Going out to lunch?" she asked, noting with dismay that her dryness wasn't as good as it once had been. It sounded rather flat and toneless.

"No," he muttered.

"Finally work your way through all of them, then?" she asked.

He turned his glum gaze on her. "There's really no point, is there? They are all wrong. And I'm sick of doing this."

"What if your mystery girl is one of those you skipped?" she couldn't help but ask. As he looked at her sharply, she rolled her eyes in a weak imitation of who she used to be. "Yes, you were that obvious. Why else would you be 'looking' that hard?"

"Nothing ever gets past you," he mumbled to himself, and then he frowned. "I think I need your help."

"It really wasn't that brilliant a deduction," she muttered.

"No, I mean it. You're one of the smartest people I know. Probably the smartest, even. _You_ could find her."

"I don't think that—"

"If you help me, you can write your own performance review."

She stared at him, more than startled. "W-what? No, I really couldn't—"

"You and Weasley are saving up for a house, aren't you? I will _buy_ you one. Of course, you may not want to actually tell him where it came from. Just make something up, he'll never know."

Hermione stared.

"Just find her and I'll give you whatever you want if it's within my power—and I still do have considerable power."

She didn't know how to respond.

"I don't plan on stalking her or in any way forcing her to do anything. You won't have to worry about the morals of the thing. I just need to see her _once_ to try and persuade her that I'm not as horrible as she seems to think. I swear, if she asks me to go away I will."

She searched her brain, desperate for any valid excuse why she couldn't possibly be looking for his 'Lethe' for him, but came up with a whole lot of nothing.

"I know I've been...difficult lately. I know I don't handle frustration well and that I'm being a wanker to you most of the time. But do you really hate me enough to still say no when you have everything to gain and nothing to lose?"

She was in big trouble.

**********

Hermione had asked for time to think. Time to consider whether she would help him find 'Lethe'. Hah. She was using that time to desperately try to think of a reason—any reason—that she could give him as to why she couldn't help.

She couldn't think of anything that he wouldn't immediately shoot down.

So, she could do some more lying and pretending and let him think she was looking for 'Lethe' or...she could tell him the truth and be done with it.

He'd been looking for a girl that didn't exist for so long. He really deserved to know the truth by now.

She knew this. Somewhere deep inside, she knew this. Now she just needed to somehow gather all of her courage and tell him.

She shouldn't have let it go on for this long. She should have told him at the shop or at the café or at the very least as soon as she realised he was seriously still looking for her.

But she hadn't told him. Instead she had let it go on. She had watched Malfoy hurt over this elusive girl for weeks without even once considering speaking up. She had watched him change while searching, not caring about how he appeared to the people around him, just wanting to find someone that he believed he might have something special with.

He had promised Hermione to buy her and Ron—really not his two favourite people—a bloody _house_ if she could just get him one meeting with that girl. He'd sworn that he didn't mean to force more than that one meeting on the witch. He just wanted a chance.

And now she had to tell him that his dream girl didn't exist. That it had just been her wearing a disguise. That she had known for so long and chosen not to tell him.

She really didn't want to tell him, but he didn't deserve to look for something that didn't exist any longer. He didn't deserve to be hurting because he thought some perfect fantasy girl had rejected him, carelessly thrown him aside, for no other reason than him being himself. He really wasn't that bad a person and he didn't deserve to think that he was. Sure, he was annoying, manipulative and occasionally rude, but...he had never actually done any harm. She even suspected that he didn't truly mean for his comments to hurt.

Shockingly, she found herself wishing she could be the fantasy girl he was searching for. She wished she could be 'Lethe'. She wished she could be someone that wasn't Hermione Granger and walk in here and watch him react to the revelation with relief and happiness rather than anger and disgust.

She closed her eyes, wishing she wasn't feeling a telling wetness on her cheeks. This wasn't supposed to hurt.


	5. Chapter 5

"Did you decide whether you want to help me yet?"

Hermione flinched at the impatient request. She really shouldn't keep postponing the inevitable and she'd put it off for days now. But he was looking annoyed. Perhaps she should wait until he was in a good mood….

She fiddled with some scrolls on her desk.

"It's not really that big a decision!" he exploded. "What do you have to lose? I'll sign a bloody contract if that's what it takes! Why are you like this? I told you, if we find her and she says no, I _will_ respect it! You don't have to protect her!"

But she did. She really, really did. Who else would?

"Why don't you want me to have what you have with your Weasley?" he asked.

"Stop mentioning him!"

She hadn't meant to say that, and certainly not say it quite so forcefully, but when the words were out, they were kind of hard to ignore.

He just looked at her, and she realised there was no going back. "I...I'm not with Ron anymore."

His eyes softened with something that looked an awful lot like understanding. She looked away, hating this. He was much easier to deal with when he was just being an annoying prat.

"When?" he asked.

Well, there lay the rub. "About ten months," she heard herself say in a dead voice.

The understanding was replaced by confusion and he frowned, obviously trying to work this out.

She sighed, feeling rather defeated. "I didn't tell you because you would have made my life a living hell and you know it. You would have made a million digs about my inability to hold onto him and I just... It was none of your business."

"But now it is?"

She was feeling so tired. She just wanted this to be over. "It doesn't ring a bell?" she asked.

He opened his mouth as if to answer, but then just frowned again and shook his head.

"I guess not. But you've been right all along. I take this crummy job too seriously and I never knew to appreciate what else I had. Finally, Ron, who you'd think was the Thickest Skull of Our Age had it with _my_ lack of attention to our relationship and he left. I haven't seen him since the breakup."

Malfoy didn't answer.

"And it doesn't sound familiar at all? You haven't heard that story before?"

He still didn't reply, but she noticed that his jaw was clenched and there was a sudden stillness to him.

"I didn't go as a hag," she quietly said. "I mean, I meant to. You were right about that. But that meddling shopkeeper wouldn't let me. He had this other costume, a nymph with green eyes and shimmering skin..."

When she looked at his eyes, she wished she hadn't. Ice-cold fury. But he still didn't speak.

She blinked rapidly a few times. This really hurt more than it should. She had known and it was not like it mattered that much to her. She would do fine without this job and she had known that it hadn't been real, so it wasn't like she'd hoped for anything. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I just couldn't—"

"This is where you tell me that I misunderstood what you just said," he interrupted.

"Well, that depends on your understanding," Hermione said in a very low voice.

"You did _not_ just tell me that...that..." He seemed at a loss for words. "And you _knew_. All this time you've been sitting there, knowing that all I wanted was to find her and... With _one_ word you could have let me know! You could have saved me a whole lot of time, trouble and agony and let me know why she wasn't interested, but instead you chose to let me completely humiliate myself!"

Hermione winced. "I know, but I swear I didn't think you'd keep looking. I thought—"

"And that's not even the worst of it!" he continued, ignoring her weak defence. "For weeks I've been wondering what's wrong with me that even after what I told her she would hate me enough to not even give me a chance or at least tell me to my face why she didn't want to see me again. Do you know what that's like? How it feels? And then it was _you_!"

The loathing in his last words cut deep. Very deep. She realised she had hoped against hope that he wouldn't actually hate her for this. But he clearly did. "Please...I didn't mean to—"

He took a step back, cutting her words off. "But you did. I never want to lay my eyes on you ever again."

She opened her mouth, wanting to somehow say something to make it better, but he was gone. He had left, not even bothering to get his cloak.

Hermione realised that at some point she had gotten up from her chair and she slowly sunk down again, feeling terribly lost.

Malfoy didn't show up for work the next day. Or the next. Or the day after that. In fact, he didn't seem inclined to make any move to show up again at all.

And Hermione didn't receive word that she was fired. She wasn't sure whether that was a good thing.

She tried to cover for Malfoy's absence as best as she could. After all, he didn't have long to stay here and there was no reason for him to get any more punishment because of...well, her.

In fact, she felt like he'd had enough punishment. What was the meaning of forcing him out to do meaningless work when he had just been a kid trying to not get himself or his parents killed during the war? If they were going to punish anyone that tried to not get killed during those years, it would be a long list indeed.

Not that it really mattered what she thought. The Wizengamot thought otherwise and their opinions were what mattered.

It didn't mean she had to enforce _their_ views, though.

Aurors, however, did.

It was a bit of a surprise when Harry one day dropped by her office. Harry _never_ dropped by her office. Especially not since she'd begun sulking. His approach to that would be to let her sulk in peace and then continue where they'd left off once she was done.

So why was he here?

"What's Malfoy up to?" he asked.

Oh. That was why. "Um, he's out. Want to leave a message?" It was sort of lame to try and fool an Auror. Especially when he was Harry and was pretty good at reading her. That didn't mean she couldn't try, though.

"You're covering for him?" Harry looked both puzzled and amused at the same time. "You don't have to. He sent us an owl. We were informed that he had stopped coming in due to irreconcilable differences in the office—with _you_—and he would accept any consequences that did not involve, eh, you."

From the last hesitation, Hermione got the feeling that Malfoy hadn't exactly referred to her by name. That was just grand. She could only imagine his colourful vocabulary. "Well, there you have it," she said with a shrug, feigning indifference. "I told you so from the beginning."

"Don't give me that. You worked together just fine for almost a year. What happened?"

"We never worked together _just fine_," she argued. "Nobody just bothered to actually pay any attention. I told you it wouldn't work."

Harry shrugged. "It would save me a whole lot of really boring paperwork if you could settle those differences for just a couple of weeks, though. He's almost done here."

"We can't."

"You won't even talk to him?"

_He won't even talk to_ me_!_ "I don't think there would be any point. Why don't _you_ talk to him?"

"Yeah, he's always reacted really well to me. And, besides, I'm not the one with the differences here. I'm the one with the paperwork."

"What am I supposed to tell him?"

"Just tell him that if he saves me the paperwork, I'll pretend he never stayed away or sent that owl and he'll be a free man in less than a month. Otherwise, he'll give me a giant headache and—no, wait, don't tell him that, it might tempt him to stay away. Just tell him he'll risk a new trial, for violating the terms of the last one, and getting a new punishment. Whatever you two are fighting about it really can't be worth it."

"You really hate paperwork, huh?"

"I _really_ do."

For the hundredth time, Hermione stared at the piece of parchment Harry had given her. This really couldn't be right. There had to be some mistake.

But, looking on the bright side, if he wasn't here, she wouldn't have to look him in the eye again.

Tentatively, she raised her hand and knocked on the door.

A few seconds went by and then the door was yanked open, making her almost jump out of her skin.

It _was_ him. She couldn't believe he was actually living _here_. At The Leaky Cauldron. Didn't he have a mansion? And even if he didn't want to live there, didn't he have enough galleons to buy another three mansions if he felt like it? Or, at the very least, rent a room at somewhere a little more, well, savoury.

He looked as if he was going to slam the door in her face, and she realised she had to say something quick to prevent it from happening. She opened her mouth to speak.

"Oy, whelp! She stays, it's extra!"

Hermione blinked and looked to the stairs where the unappealing barman was eyeing them. Malfoy sneered and suddenly she was pulled in and the door slammed behind her.

"What do you want?"

"It's about work—"

"Write your own review. I don't care. I don't work there anymore."

She blinked at his curtness. "Well, Harry came to the office and—"

"Potter sent you here? So you don't even _want_ me there. That's just grand. You can tell him you failed."

She shook her head. "You'd really rather get a new sentence than work along me for a few more weeks?"

"Yes."

She folded her arms across her chest. "Well, that's stupid."

He shrugged. "Well, apparently, I just _am_ stupid. Anything else?"

"Just come back and do the remainder of your time. You don't even have to talk to me or anything. You have your own office."

"Why do _you_ care so much what happens?"

"Because it's stupid!"

He didn't reply but just gazed at her rather haughtily.

"Look, you hate me. Fine. But that's no reason to just...cut off your nose to spite your face," she tried to reason.

"Hate you," he echoed.

She winced. "Yeah, I got that. Thanks."

"Now you're the one being bloody stupid."

Wait, this didn't make any sense anymore. Her eyebrows drew together. "You lost me."

"Can't lose what you never had. You think I really want to be around you every day?"

"No, but we covered that... You don't have to talk to me. Or even see me, really." Hermione's confusion was growing.

"God, you really don't know, do you?" He sighed. His anger seemed to have given way to resignation. "I can't be around you because it's humiliating."

"I never meant to humiliate you," she quietly said. She really did wish she could undo everything that made him feel like she had meant to ridicule him. She just never thought he would be _that_ serious about 'Lethe'. Now she was just...deeply sorry that he had to be so disappointed.

"No." He paused. "I know. But let me ask you...how many Muggle girls do you think I knew when I was a kid?"

"Oh." Hermione's cheeks reddened as she remembered his confessions. "I hadn't actually thought about that."

"No. Neither had I for a long time. Life happened, things moved on. But then I found that not nearly as much as I thought had changed. It didn't matter, though. Things were as they were and you had your Weasley, which was the way I thought it was supposed to be...and then I met Lethe."

Hermione's blush deepened. So he'd managed to have two separate crushes on her? The thought was oddly warming. She wasn't just flattered, she was...glad.

"I finally thought there was someone for me. Someone I could have. Every time she seemed to reject me, I thought that maybe she was just scared, maybe I could change her mind, and then...she was you. Again."

The disappointment in his voice stung. Obviously, he wasn't happy about having fancied her. Well, she shouldn't be either. "I never rejected you when we were kids!" she objected.

"Sure you did. You just didn't even notice that you did it. And then you were irrevocably taken, or so I thought. But it really didn't make a difference what I thought, did it? As Lethe, even before you knew who I was, you ran in the opposite direction."

Why did he have to sound like everything was _her_ fault? It wasn't her doing that he seemed to want to _not_ want her so badly that he found it an actual _relief_ to find some other girl. "It wasn't real," she insisted. "She doesn't even exist!"

He sighed, looking defeated. "Then how come it was you again? What are the odds that I will see you wearing some other face in a sea of hundreds of faces and get the same feeling if it's not _real_?"

She didn't know what to answer to that. Was he confessing to having real feelings for _her_ or for a fantasy creature?

He closed his eyes. "You have no idea how much I wish it hadn't been you. How I wish I could feel this way for another witch. How happy it made me for a time to think that I could. And how much I can't be around you anymore, because you were Lethe, you are not with Weasley, and there's still nothing I can do."

There was a brief silence as she still couldn't quite figure out what to say or what to do. She didn't want to make a fool out of herself, but she didn't want to completely mess this up either.

"Please leave," he quietly said.

He was kicking her out. She should leave. This was stupid anyway... "No," she replied.

"I'm not coming back."

"Yes, you are." She raised her chin and stared at him stubbornly, hoping to high heavens that she wasn't making a complete fool of herself.

"Haven't you been listening? Or do you just enjoy that whole tortured soul bit?" he asked, sounding weary. Of her.

"You're stupid." She had to fight her own wince.

"My, thank you!" he said sarcastically. "You sure know how to make a bloke feel special."

"_You_ rejected _me_!" There it was. The most important issue of all. If he said 'of course I did, you little twit,' she would quite possibly have to go drink a vial of _really_ strong poison.

"I did not!" His surprise and indignation actually indicated that he was telling the truth and she took a second to thank any higher power that was listening for this. She didn't particularly fancy drinking poison.

"I told you who I was and you said you never wanted to see me again!" she then continued, determined to have this out.

"Well, yes, but—"

"You looked at me as if I was something disgusting that just crawled out from under a rock!" She didn't plan on letting him deny his part in this whole ordeal.

"I was upset!"

_He_ was upset? She scowled. "And how was I supposed to ever know that you liked me when all you ever did was call my hair frizzy—"

"It _is_ frizzy."

"—and tell me my robes were horrible and ugly—"

"They are _extremely_ horrible." He was actually smiling at that, the git.

"—and bury me in work—"

"Didn't want for you to have to spend too much time with Weasley."

She glared at him. "—while mocking me for my _dedication_ to work—"

"You need to lighten up and have some more fun."

"—and _always_ giving me a hard time about something or other!"

"Don't pretend my opinion ever mattered to you."

"How can you claim you _liked_ me when all you ever did was point out everything that was wrong with me?" Or more to the point: how could he like her and still think she was so...undesirable. She couldn't ask that, though.

"Because those things are shallow and have nothing to do with what makes you _you_...and you look quite adorable when you're annoyed," he softly said.

She scowled at him again, definitely feeling some of that annoyance now. He was such a pillock sometimes. Maybe if he hadn't been like that, they wouldn't have to be here, like this, now.

"And because if I were nice to you, then you might notice what lay beneath. And you would pity me but never want me back. Besides, I _thought_ I was pretty much over it. I truly had accepted the way of things. When I met Lethe, I thought that it was really over and I was so relieved..."

"But it wasn't," she dully said. Did he really have to refer to her as if she were a nasty cold?

"No. Apparently I can't seem to help it."

"So, what are you going to do about it?"

He looked away. "Stay away. Leave you alone. That's what you asked me to do, after all. I told you that I would respect her—your—wishes and I plan to. I just wanted to see if there really wasn't a shot."

Was there? Did he even want there to be? From the expression on his face, she thought he did. But why didn't he try, then? Why did he withdraw as soon as he found out it was her that had been 'Lethe'? And as much as he claimed he'd had a crush on her before, he had never made any obvious moves on her.

Was she really that unapproachable?

She supposed she'd better take matters into her own hands.

"That sounds like a lousy plan," she announced.

He snorted with something that wasn't quite amusement. "You have a better one?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact I do: Exposure."

He frowned at that. "What?"

Served him well to be confused. "We'll have to expose you to me every day."

"That hasn't worked so far."

"Well, then we'll have to intensify it. Expose you to me for more hours a day. Perhaps in more ways than one." She looked around, eyeing the furniture of the rented room. "Is this really where you live?"

"It's convenient. And what are you talking about?" His confusion was becoming more pronounced, but she thought she saw something akin to hope in his eyes.

"Really?" she said, feigning distraction. "I mean, the room is sort of ok, but that barman downstairs...I think I saw him _spit_ on a glass."

"Hermione!"

Good. He was anxious. "We expose you to me until you get sick of being around me," she explained with the patience of a long-suffering mentor.

He shook his head, his eyes never leaving her face. "That's not a very good plan," he slowly said.

She raised one haughty eyebrow at him. "Oh, yeah? Why not?"

His lip twitched very slightly. He was catching on. "It's not going to happen. I'm not going to get sick of you."

"Well," she murmured, frowning a little. "There's always that risk, of course. But maybe we just have to take it."

"Are you..." He hesitated. "Are you saying you _do_ want to date me?"

Her eyes widened innocently. "I'd never dare suggest such a thing."

He came closer and took her hand. "You said it wasn't real. You hid your identity from me. You lied about having a fiancé for almost a year. You sent that note telling me to stay away. _You_ rejected _me_ too. How was I supposed to think that would ever change?"

She bit her lip and looked up at him a bit sheepishly. Ok, the peacock had a point. "Maybe we should stop doing that."

He nodded, relief suddenly flooding his features. "Please do." Hesitantly, as if fearing another rejection, he drew her closer.

Hermione suddenly frowned, making him stop and look at her inquisitively. "Hey, are you still buying me a house?" she asked.

He gave her a both pained and amused look. "I'm sure there's a point to this that I'm not seeing."

"Isn't there always?" No reason to go easy on him just because she had decided she fancied him.

He shot her an exasperated glance. "So, you're wanting a house from me, huh?"

"I'm wanting _something_ from you. But we need the house."

"What is it, then?"

"You'll find out. Of course, you would be welcome to visit me any time you like in my new house."

"How very considerate of you." Now there was the perfect amount of dry. She'd learn that eventually.

"Yes, I thought so," she replied. "We obviously can't spend too much time around here because of the noise."

"You can barely hear what happens downstairs."

"Yeah...not that noise."

He blinked, obviously not quite following. "And what's wrong with your place?"

"Same noise, a lot less forgiving neighbours."

His eyes gleamed. "Now, I know what kind of noise I would _like_ to make..."

"There's that," she conceded. "That's definitely some of what I will want from you. But there's also the inevitable fighting."

He shook his head. "No. I'm not going to fight with you."

"Of course you are," she said very matter-of-factly. He could be so naive. "Often, too."

"I'm not!"

"You are right now." She smirked at making her point.

He scowled. "This is not a fight, it's a heated discussion."

"Fine, we'll have _heated discussions_." And he could prefer to be called a pheasant, but that didn't mean he wasn't still a peacock.

"Can they end in another kind of noise?" he asked hopefully.

Now there was an idea she wasn't wholly against. "Well, that depends."

"On what?"

She smirked again. "My performance review, naturally."

"Just exactly what kind of performance do you want reviewed?" Oh, she had to learn to hit that exact amount of dry and _soon_.

"Hey, there have to be _some_ perks from sleeping with my boss," she muttered, closing the distance between them and looking up at him from under her eyelashes with a suggestive little smile.

He grinned down at her. "This is going to be fun."

_~~~~~End~~~~~

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**I hope you enjoyed this little diversion. :) It was certainly different to have to fulfill a prompt, but sometimes it's fun to step outside of your own little box, no? Until next time. ;)**

**An author's note added much later: There has been a little confusion on this matter, so I just want to clarify something. I know Hermione is not a Muggle, but rather a Muggle-born witch. Hermione knows that. In spite of past learnings from his family (Muggle-born wizards and witches are merely impostors who've got hold of wands, remember?) I'm even fairly certain that Draco knows that too. But 1) he may not really bother to distinguish much between Muggle and Muggle-born all the time and, more importantly, 2) he might have attempted to disguise the identity of his crush by referring to her as a Muggle. "How many Muggles do you think I knew as a kid?" is really a good question, not because he didn't know any other Muggle-born witches (although his exposure was probably limited) but because Lucius and Narcissa hardly would have allowed him to run around with true Muggles.  
**


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